There’s a picture of us that once served to remind me of the reason I kept holding on. And now, I still have the picture (how could I just get rid of a moment from a good day, even if we’re no longer together?), but all it brings me is a sad kind of nostalgia. Me wishing I was as naïve as I was a year ago. Hoping that my absence from your life has finally stopped hurting, so you can learn whatever the hell I was put in your life to teach you.
I thought I’d gotten to that point, but apparently, I’m still hurting.
But I read a physical book for the first time since at least May, and all it took was a ten-minute power outage. I wonder what that says about my mental state. Maybe not that I’m improving, just that that was all it took to motivate me to rediscover the joys of another world to push down my feelings, instead of burying them under stress and schoolwork.
It’s been 3 months since we broke up, and I hope you’re doing well. I’m still very sorry and very guilty, and I know that if I were more self-destructive, I’d never have done it, that even now, I’d beg you to take me back like you once begged me. And I’d deserve your refusal. I hope you’d refuse me. I don’t ever plan to find out.
I suppose I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, pushing some things down until I can deal with them at a later date. Just continue working towards recovery, not worrying about the past with you or the future I have to live without you. Until one day, I find that all the sadness is gone, and the memory of you just brings along a sense of resignation, acceptance that we happened and we ended and I learned some valuable lesson that I don’t know yet. Just like how I feel about my first ex.